Every October, Ghana and the world turns pink. Ribbons, campaigns, and slogans flood the media, reminding us of breast cancer awareness. Yet for me, and many others like me, October is not a month of hope. It is a month that reopens wounds.
Three years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the fear, the confusion, and the flood of advice that followed. But deep within, I knew I could not go through the conventional route chemotherapy, surgery, and radiotherapy. I had seen what those treatments had done to people I loved. After prayer, research, and reflection, I chose the alternative path.
Since then, every pink ribbon I see stirs a mix of emotions. Hope. Pain. And a silent question: where do people like me fit into this global awareness campaign?
This letter is not an attack on medicine. It is a cry for inclusion. For understanding. For compassion.
Because some of us cannot endure the conventional treatments not out of fear, but out of conviction. We have watched how those treatments can sometimes take away the very life they are meant to save. I have seen loved ones fight bravely, only to loose them, not always to the disease, but to the treatment itself.
So I ask, with a heavy heart: why must survival always mean chemotherapy, radiation, or surgery?
Why must toxins be pumped into the body to heal it? Why must we burn, cut, and destroy, only to be told that survival is still uncertain?
The pink ribbon encourages early detection and treatment, and that is good. But what about alternative healing paths? Why are they dismissed? Why do people frown when I say I am walking the natural route? Why do I feel judged when I tell a doctor I will continue with the treatments that give me peace and strength?
Last year, I met a young woman at the hospital. She had completed her full course of chemotherapy and radiation. I remember how weak she looked. I took her mother’s number to check on her later, but weeks after, I was told she had passed on not from the disease, but from the treatment.
Tell me, how do we explain that?
Yes, some survive the conventional treatment. But how many live beyond ten years, free from complications and side effects? Those stories exist, but they are few. And that should move us not to give up but to explore more humane, less painful, and more effective paths to healing.
I am a mother. I want my children to remember me strong, not broken. I want to live but not through pain that steals my dignity and peace.
This is not rebellion. It is a plea to be heard.
We need a healthcare system that listens to all voices. We need medical professionals and natural medicine practitioners to collaborate, not compete. We need a system that combines science with compassion, research with faith, and treatment with dignity.
For three years, I have carried this burden silently. Fear, confusion, and pain have been my companions. But faith has kept me standing. And even now, I still believe there is a way: a gentler, truer way to heal without destroying life itself.
Nobody should have to die from breast cancer. And nobody should have to die from its treatment either.
Until then, I will keep staying alive.
By Yvonne Ohenewaah Berko, Wellness Advocate
Author’s Bio:
Yvonne Ohenewaah Berko is a Ghanaian wellness advocate who believes healing should preserve both life and dignity. A breast cancer patient who chose an alternative path, she now speaks for inclusion and collaboration between modern and natural medicine in Ghana’s healthcare system.
Source: ameyawdebrah.com/
